Subtle Shades
by Ninthrys
Summary: After Draco Malfoy returns to England, he discovers that the country is not as he remembers. When a series of events force him to seek help from the Ministry, Draco is unfortunate enough to have Auror Potter assigned to his case. In the face of angry backlashes from both sides of the war, the pair soon discover that working together is becoming an unfortunate necessity. Slash HP/DM
1. Where's the milk?

**Subtle shades, Chapter One**

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><p>"Can I suggest, Draco," said Theodore from his spot by the fire, "that you endeavour to do something productive with your day rather than stewing over the papers? Surely you've exhausted every rag in the Wizarding World by now." He checked his watch, which showed a circle of tiny golden planets rotating around a miniature sun. "It's nearly lunchtime, you know."<p>

"I see little point in going outside, Theo," groaned Draco from the chais longe. "I'll just see his awful face plastered everywhere."

Theo raised an eyebrow and glanced over at the mound of papers surrounding the chais longe. Dozens of bespectacled faces peered out from the photographs, each in a progressively uglier sweater. "Then I see no difference between here and the outside world."

"I'm not a child, Theodore," snapped Draco, turning to face his friend from his odd position on the cushions. "There's no need to coax me into the outside world for the good of my health. I have been abroad for years, allow me some slumping time."

Theodore shrugged, allowing Draco to settle back into his stupor for a minute before tossing a few coins in the man's direction. "Go and get us some milk for tea, then Draco."

After much huffing and fussing, it was eventually decided that after all, Draco would be the one to walk the three minutes to the nearest shop. The rain was torrential, but as he ventured out onto the street, he was relieved by the distinct absence of posters of the Gryffindor Golden Boy and felt a little better. He had ducked inside a corner shop and was about to find the milk when he caught a glimpse of a disgustingly familiar shade of orange, and his mood sank right back down to an angry gloom. As he was in the main housing district of Wizarding London, he was not entirely surprised to see Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger casually stroll into the shop, but was immediately stricken with a distinct dread at the prospect of an awkward encounter. There was only one route of escape, and he took it. He ducked down low and pretended to look at a bottom shelf, hoping to Merlin they'd walk straight through the shop and not wander through to his aisle. He crouched for several long moments, listening to them trudge through various other aisles, and doing his best to judge when he could make a break for it. He was starting to wheeze with the uncomfortable crouch he was locked in when an elderly witch approached him.

"I'm sorry to trouble you my dear, but do you think you could reach the flour for me? My wand work's not what it used to be and I'd hate to spill it." He looked at her from his spot on the floor, eyes wide with a look of hopelessness. He was just about to shoo her away when the do–gooder Gryffindors rounded the corner, no doubt eager to assist the old lady in distress.

"Here Ma'am, let m- Malfoy?!"

Damn. Without hesitating, he plucked the first thing he could see from the bottom shelf and rose in a fluid motion to face them. He feigned slight surprise.

"Weasley. Granger. It's been a long time." The three were locked in that unfortunate, awkward situation in which one meets childhood aquaintances. None of them seemed eager to break the silence, and Draco wondered -

"Blimey, I'd forgotten you existed. It was nice."

Ah, yes. He'd forgotten social norms didn't apply to Weasleys. "Quite," Draco replied snippily, turning his attention to Hermione, who, for her part, seemed intent in being more mature than her partner.

"How have you been, Draco?" She asked.

He turned to face her, angling his body as far away from Weasley as he could manage. "Tolerably well thank you. And yourself?"

"Yes, I'm fine too." A pause. She shuffled the paper under her arm, and Draco couldn't help but wince when a bespectacled face peered out at him from the crook of her elbow. She followed his gaze. "Oh. I suppose you've heard about Harry?"

Draco barely managed to resist rolling his eyes. The Boy Wonder was unavoidable, and not for want of trying. "Yes. Our boy hero's got himself into a bit of a scrape this time, hasn't he?"

It was her turn to sniff haughtily. "Well, Harry's actually quite seriously ill. I know the attack has been a little sensationalised in the media but they do have the facts right."

"Yeah," butted in Ron, evidently much more keen to contribute to the conversation now they had begun to take on the roles of the past. "He really did take on eight dark wizards at once. Bloody brave, he is."

"No doubt," drawled Draco. "Although, one has to wonder how wise it was to undertake such a feat, considering he didn't exactly come out unscathed. He had his throat cut, didn't he?"

"How was Harry to know they'd fricking sneak up behind him?"

"Indeed. How was an auror to know that dark wizards can do such dastardly things as sneaking."

Ron opened his mouth to lob some insult or another at him, but Hermione raised a hand to silence her partner. "Well, it certainly was nice bumping into you Draco, but we really must be on our way back to the hospital. Goodbye."

It wouldn't have surprised him if Ron had stuck out his tongue, but in reality the man settled for a particularly ugly glare before following Hermione away. Draco watched their heads bob for a moment until they had left the shop. He glared at the old woman to his left, and she shuddered theatrically. He stalked out after he was certain they'd gone, and proceeded to march back to the house, not bothering with his umbrella, and so necessitating a dog-like shake upon re-entry."You'll never believe what just happened!" He bellowed to Theodore, as he stalked into the next room. "This is your fault, if I hadn't been pestered into going outside this never would've happened. Go on, guess. Guess what's just happened to me!"

"Do tell," said Theodore, not looking up from his book.

"Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, that's what happened."

Theo looked up. "Oh. Well that is rather unfortunate."

"Yes. Yes it bloody well was." Draco snapped, flinging himself down on a nearby sofa.

"How are they?" Asked Theo mildly, returning his attention to the aged pages in his lap.

"How are they?" Screeched Malfoy, hands clutching the air as if a throat were there. "How are they? What do you want to know that for? Don't you want to know how rude Weasley was and how irritating his Mudblood wife?"

Theo finally set his book down, unable to read with such a loud voice close by. "No, not particularly. You always get in a terrible funk whenever you come into contact with Gryffindors, and frankly I don't understand it. Look at what you've been doing all day – how many photos of Harry bleeding Potter will it take for you to understand you've still got a bit of a grudge against the lot of them? Goodness knows why, it ended well enough between you all, didn't it?"

"Yes, but-"

"Yes but nothing," Theo had had enough and was eager to return to his book. "Look, Draco, you're always paranoid and strange when you come into contact with them. I suggest you go and have a nice long read, or do some work. Clear your head. You get yourself into a muddle and don't think straight."

"That is totally untrue, and you know it," spat Draco, blanching.

"Oh really?" Asked Nott, lowering his tone and turning his attention once more to his book.

"Yes really!" Draco snapped, tempted to rip the sodding book out of Nott's ink-stained fingers.

There was a long pause before Theo slid his eyes back to Draco and said: "Is that so. Then, do tell me – where is the milk?"

~x~

It was some time later, striding round a blissful, Potter-free Muggle London that Draco began to calm down and turn his attention to his current plans. His current potion was three months in development, and he had just picked up a bag of rather foul looking ingredients to take back to his new flat when a Muggle man slowed down to walk alongside him.

"Alright gorgeous?" The man said. Draco blanched, sensing a threat. The suddenness of the approach had set him on edge, and he was in no mood to talk to strangers. His heart began to pound a little in his chest, and he began to slow down to make an about turn, to get away from his unwanted companion.

"There's no need to look so scared," the man laughed, looming closer and towering over Draco. " I'm just giving you a compliment. You could say thank you."

"Thanks, but no thanks," Draco said, trying not to let his voice shake. He turned and walked briskly away, quickly calculating the quickest walk home. Dread boiled in his stomach as he heard running behind him and the man appeared once more at his side.

"There's no need to be like that. Don't be so rude, I'm trying to talk to you." Draco looked at him full on as he paced forwards. The man was a little taller than he was, young, with strong muscled shoulders. Draco saw a threat.

"But I don't want to talk to you, leave me alone," Draco said, anger and fear fighting for dominance in his gut. Doubtless this man could overpower him if he needed to, and Draco did not want to find out. Perhaps the quickest option was to run, but-

"Stuck up c**t," the man grunted, face suddenly darkening. "You should learn to take a compliment, f**king tw*t."

Draco didn't think, he just ran. He looked back after a little while, to see no pursuer, but his heart hammered all the same. He paced through the streets, alert and afraid, pushing past muggles and wizards alike to get to his home. He reached his apartment building and all but flung himself up the stairs, panic and exhaustion balling inside of him, and he panted with the effort to get home. Three flights left, two flights, one…

His pounding heart stopped within him for a moment as his apartment door came into view. It was broken in two, shards spattered everywhere by some form of spell. He gaped, dread rising once again within him, and he fumbled in his pockets for his wand. He stepped forwards tentatively, and peered down his hallway. Things were burned. Everything had been kicked or cursed. Wallpaper had been ripped from the walls and black paint marred the cream carpet as an ugly stain. He shuffled in, dazed, and then continued down his ruined hall, noting with a pang the broken glass in the kitchen and the shards of plastic from shattered objects on the floor. Then he walked into his living room. All of his books had flown off their shelves, reams and reams of paper scattered across the room, ripped pieces resting on the floor in great piles. Several boxes waiting to be unpacked had been charred to pieces where they sat. But the worst thing of all were the walls, or rather, what had been painted on them. The dark mark stared at Draco from across the room, crudely scrawled across the wallpaper with black flames. Words sprung out at him from everywhere else. "Death Eater Scum", "Die", and worst of all; "We'll be back."

Draco collapsed onto his floor, feeling the fingers of fear clutch at his throat. He sat there for a good while, staring into the Dark Mark's ugly, threatening sockets. He refused to cry.

~x~

Across Muggle London, in a cosy ward in St Mungo's, Harry Potter was sitting up in an hospital bed for what seemed like the thousandth time. "Gods," he grunted, rearranging his pillows. "I'm getting too old for this." At the tender age of twenty – six, he had been in one hospital ward or another more times than he could count.

"I'll say," came Hermione's voice. Harry squinted through the haziness of his vision before groping on his nightstand for his glasses. The world swarmed back into focus.

"You can't keep doing this mate," chimed in Ron, who he could now see was perched on the end of Harry's bed.

"It wasn't like I could help it!" Harry shot back. He was uncomfortable and tired, and could feel an headache setting in. "I didn't ask to get my throat cut you know."

"Of course we know," said Hermione, looking worried. "But we still think you could take more precautions. Like calling for back up more often, like we talked about?"

Harry knew from experience that there was no use pleading his case, especially when he was finding it hard to think straight. "You're right, Hermione. I should've been more careful."

There was a tense silence, during which Harry patted at his neck bandages experimentally. Ron broke the silence suddenly."Hey, Harry. You'll never guess who we just saw. Only-"

Ron was interrupted by a nurse approaching, followed closely by the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Visitor for you sir," said the nurse, rather unnecessarily, and blushed, evidently nervous. Harry nodded at him before turning to Kingsley, and the nurse departed.

"How are you doing Harry?" Kingsley asked, pulling up a chair. Hermione and Ron nodded at the pair and quietly left them to it.

"I'm fine," Harry said, offering a weak smile. "There was no need for you to come all this way."

"Well," said Shacklebolt carefully. "Actually there is. You went charging into that last mission without really considering the threat. The gang you intercepted are still at large, and others are springing up all over London. And it's not just –" Kingsley shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I don't really know how to tell you this Harry. Perhaps I should wait until you are better."

Harry frowned. "I've been here for three days, sir. I can assure you, I can take whatever you have to throw at me."

Shacklebolt looked at Harry for a long while, before sitting back in his chair and breathing heavily. "There have been – incidents. All over the country. It seems that quite apart from the anti-pureblood groups you've been dealing with, there have been problems with… with remenants. Remenants from the war. People who, for whatever reason, are fighting back against these anti – pureblood radicals with hatred of their own." He clasped his hands together firmly. "Dark marks, Harry. There have been dark marks all over Britain. And once you're better, we need your help."


	2. Chapter 2: The orange files

**Chapter Two**

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><p>Draco waited on the footsteps of an abandoned home in Central London. Whoever was supposed to be keeping his appointment was late, and his mood was made all the worse by the rain leaking into his expensive shoes. He clutched his coffee the way a drowning man clutches at wreckage from a ship in a half-hearted effort to keep out the cold.<p>

He was waiting, somewhat impatiently, upon a Ministry official, and as the moments ticked by his patience wore thinner and thinner. Only a mild sense of dread kept him there, and an unwillingness to return to his flat. He hadn't managed to clear up much yet – all he had managed was a hasty grab of what was left of his most important possessions, followed by a frantic floo to Theo's house. He eyed some determined shoppers swarming about in the downpour at the end of the street, and scanned the windows opposite. Not for the first time he cursed his platinum hair, and pulled the brim of his hat down a little lower.

"Hello?" Draco's head jerked towards the sound. A man was approaching from a few doors away, carrying a large black umbrella that sprayed droplets everywhere and concealed his face. "Hello?" The man repeated again, coming a little closer. "I'm here to meet whoever submitted case 449?" Draco edged nearer to the top step.

"Yes, that's me. Are you Auror Fletcher?" Draco ducked a little to try to peer under the large expanse of umbrella.

"Yes, Hello. Hold on just a second, sir, let me get out of this rain." The man hopped up onto the second step so that he was covered by the porch, and set about folding his massive umbrella up into a neat bundle. He looked up – just as Malfoy looked down at him.

"Potter?!"

"Malfoy?!"

"What the hell, Malfoy?" Potter said, forehead wrinkling with anger. "You're not supposed to lie about your identity in official complaints!"

Draco glared back, taking steps further into the porch to distance himself from one of his least favourite people. "I didn't lie. I just omitted to mention it," he eyed Potter for a second, before turning back the attack. "My deepest apologies, _Auror Fletcher_!"

The pair of them stood there in stony silence for a few moments, locked in a fierce glare. Draco took his hat off and fought the childish impulse to fling his coffee at Potter and make a quick exit. "If I'd known it was you, I would've sent someone else," Harry said sourly, checking his watch. "I'm pretty sure there are regulations about taking up a case with someone I know."

"Oh no," said Draco, voice thrumming with anger. "You're not going anywhere. This is the first time anyone from your sodding deparment has turned up. I've been waiting here for you for a solid half hour."

Harry coughed. "I'm sure somebody will get onto your case as soon as they can, Malfoy. I'm returning to the Ministry to reassign your case to a different Auror. Good day!" He stepped off of the top step and put up his umbrella.

"No!" Draco barked, striding towards the top of the steps. "You know bloody well that's not true. This is your job, isn't it? Answering threats and complaints and things? You're contractually obliged to deal with my request."

"I'm not contractually obliged to do squat for you, Malfoy," Harry said, turning on the spot and failing to hide a nasty smile when his umbrella directed a stream of water onto Draco's shoes. "I really don't think I'm allowed to get involved with this case even if I wanted to, and I don't want to. Goodbye."

"Alright," Malfoy snapped, rubbing his foot. "Then you explain to me why all my previous complaints have "gotten lost" in the Ministry, but when I don't mention my name, someone gets straight to me."

To Draco's gratification, Harry looked genuinely taken aback before he schooled his face back into his ridiculous frown. "I'm sure it's just temporarily lost, Malfoy. Someone will get back to you sooner or later. I just happened to have a free couple of hours."

"Are you serious?" Malfoy snarled, leaning out of the porch so far that rain ran onto his hat. "You really believe that? Are you honestly not going to help me? Have you even read the case?"

Harry fished around in his pocket and withdrew a piece of parchment. He studied it for a moment. "A break in, was it?" He trailed a pencil half-way down the document before losing interest. "Long list of damages. That's crummy, but I'm sure you've got the money to replace it." He sent a pointed look at Malfoy's bespoke suit.

"That's not the point-" Draco began, but Harry cut him off.

"Look, Malfoy. I really don't think I'm the right person to help you, but I can take down some more details and I promise I'll find someone in the department to get right on it. Will that do?"

Draco retreated back under his porch. "I should've known better than to ask the Ministry for help," he said sourly, drawing his cloak further around himself.

Harry was making his way down the street, but he paused and turned around to face Draco through the rain. "I'm sorry I can't help you. And," he paused. "I- I'm sorry about… I mean, I saw in the papers -"

"No you're not, Potter. Piss off," Malfoy snarled from the shadows.

Harry looked at him for a moment, then shrugged, and walked away through the downpour.

~x~

Later that day, well past office hours, Harry was sitting in his office with his feet resting on his desk. He was cradling a cup of hot tea in his hands and staring out of the dark window when the Deputy Head of Department sauntered in, something sticky stuck in his ginger hair. "Hard at work, eh, Harry?" He asked jovially.

Harry chuckled. "I'm on a well-earned tea break, Ron. I've had a blinder of a day."

Ron slumped into the chair opposite Harry's desk. "What is it about Thursdays that's so grim? Something always goes wrong on a Thursday," he began to play with some of the tools on Harry's desk, tossing a magical globe casually into the air.

Harry watched him for a while, before setting his tea down firmly. "Ron, what do you think are the chances that a case submitted by the public goes missing?"

Ron's eyes were focussed on the globe, following it up and down. "I dunno. Pretty low, although it does happen - minor stuff gets backlogged quite a lot. We're a bit understaffed at the moment. Why?"

Harry ignored his question and pressed on. "What do you think are the chances that a complaint gets lost more than once?"

Ron caught the globe deftly, and turned his attention to Harry, tone becoming serious. "Pretty low. If it's a minor case the receptionists won't accept double submissions. Over how long are we talking here?"

"I dunno," said Harry carefully. "All I know is that a case might have been lost, after multiple complaints. A house break-in."

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a tiny yellow paper plane whizzing through the doorway and hovering by the lit lamp. Ron seized it and examined it for a moment, before springing to his feet. "Sorry, Harry. The Minister wants to see me, they've caught a couple of gang suspects. We'll talk about this later, yeah?" He vanished through the oak and glass door of Harry's office and jogged down the corridor. Harry heard his footstephs echo through the empty department and then the ping of the lift, before all became silent.

Harry picked up his mug again and rolled it between his palms. Like it or not, Malfoy's case had been bothering him all afternoon and distracting him from his other duties. Something just didn't add up, and loathe as he was to admit it, Malfoy was right - the case should've been dealt with days ago. Harry had read the case properly when he'd returned to his office, and he'd found, with horror, that he had missed the concerning aspects of the case when he'd read it in the street earlier. There were threats and serious, cursed damage. Not to mention the Dark Mark. This should've been dealt with sooner, should've been high priority, and it was up to him to find out how such an important event had been lost. With a resigned air, Harry rose to his feet and went out into the corridor to cast a few detection spells. They were negative – there was no one around at this time of the evening. Luckily, the majority of the wards were focussed on entry to the Auror department, not between offices. He jogged back and snatched a couple of undelivered memos from his desk. In the event of triggering a ward, the memos would give him a good excuse to be in anyone's office.

He tried Auror Thornwood's office first. The place stank of cooked breakfasts, and greasy napkins flooded the waste paper basket. He spelled on the light, and felt for wards – he didn't think he'd tripped any, but he put a memo about an assault case on Thornwood's desk all the same. Then he turned to the papers. In hindsight, he thought, Thornwood's office wasn't an ideal place to start. His in and out trays were a mess, and ink had been splattered over a couple of documents. Harry considered a moment, wondering whether if he found one of Malfoy's case submissions in here it would mean purposeful negligence or just an accident through untidiness. He made a mental note to casually bring up the issue of neatness with the auror the next day, before he returned his attention to the desk. It was a wonder the man managed to start on any cases at all with an office this disordered. Not that Harry was one to talk.

He leafed through the first few pages in the in tray, stopping when the cases dated back to more than a month ago. He was looking for an orange parchment, which signified cases such as robberies and muggings. He turned his attention to the out tray. Assault, domestic incident, kidnapping, and finally, robbery. He slid it out from the bottom of the pile and scanned it quickly. Not Malfoy's request. He tried again, and this time he found it. **'**_**Draco Malfoy, age twenty six, Home Address: 14 Marlobaugh crescent**'_ et cetera. Break in and Vandalism complaint. Harry pushed his glasses further up his nose and attempted to make out what Thornwood had scrawled. **_NEGATED_**, it said, in spiky copperplate handwriting_.** PERSONAL CONNECTION TO PERSONS INVOLVED**_. Harry frowned, but was not overly concerned. A large portion of the Aurors in this department had been affected by the war and many had had dealings with the Malfoy family. He carefully replaced the file, and moved on to the next office.

Auror Kendall's office was a little tidier, which meant going through the paperwork was easy. He found nothing, however, in either the in tray or the out tray, and sat for a while on the oak desk to think. It was perfectly possible that Malfoy had only complained twice, but that wasn't what Malfoy had said. Previous complaints. Previous complaints. He was about to leave and try the next office when something caught his eye in the supposedly 'decorative' fireplace. A few shards of grey, burnt paper were resting sadly in the bottom, so delicate that parts of it had fallen through the grate. With a sickly feeling in is stomach, Harry pointed his wand at it. "Reparo," he whispered.

The magic worked quickly, shards of the material rising through the grate. They formed a parchment, and the parchment quickly changed from grey to brown, and from brown to- gods. Orange. Harry picked up the paper and scanned it, stomach twisting inside him._** Draco Malfoy**_, it read. _**Age Twenty-six. Home Address: 14 Marlobaugh Crescent.**_ This time there was no black scribbles, no justification. It had just been Incendioed into ash.

Harry turned and searched the bin, suddenly convinced it was a spare copy, a mix-up. There was no copy in the bin. He shoved the paper into his pocket and paced into the next office. He rifled through the in tray, and the out tray, and the fireplace of Shott's office before turning resolutely to the bins. A familiar orange hue peeked out from the bottom of the basket. _**Draco Malfoy, Age Twenty-six, Marlobaugh Crescen****t**_- he slammed it onto the desk, and ran to the next room. He checked the in tray, the out tray, the bin – _**Draco Malfoy, Age Twenty-six, Marlobaugh Crescent.**_ He ran to the next one, feeling nauseated. This time, he didn't bother checking the trays on the desk and went straight for the bin. He seized some orange paper from it and snapped it open. _**Draco Malfoy, Age Twenty- six, Marlobaugh Crescent.**_

There were seven in total. One in an out tray, one in the fireplace, four in the bins, and one scribbled out and shoved in a desk drawer. Harry leaned against a wall with a sickly feeling rising within him. He clutched, in his sweaty hands, six pieces of active negligence, of – of cruelty. He looked at the final one he'd collected, dated just two days before._** Case 449**_, it read. _**Domestic robbery, category four. Substantial damage, vandalism and personal threat. Victim's account of nature of personal threat indicated possible return of perpetrators. Civilian in danger – investigate as soon as possible.**_

The image of Malfoy drawing his cloak about him came to him, unbidden. He held no love for Malfoy, but the injustice angered him all the same. This negligence was wrong, and an anger began to broil in the pit of his stomach. Malfoy was many things – a coward and a narcissist to name but a few, but someone who had come good in the end. Someone who did not deserve this neglect. He strode back into his office and sent the papers flying all over his desk, before turning to his filing cabinet and tearing out a file that he had not set eyes on for years. He strode over to his desk and slammed the file onto it before fanning out its contents. Malfoy was nothing special now, but the Ministry had been keeping a close eye on him all the same. A number of suspected cases were here, including petty crimes and smuggling, but nothing concrete. Nothing proven. He cast aside the ministry documents to look at a pile of newspaper cuttings someone had compiled. Harry sifted through them until he came to the one he was looking for. A front-page piece, with the stern faces of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy looking out from it. Beneath was a solitary picture of the younger Malfoy, dressed all in black. He whipped round at the flashing of cameras, and brought a hand up to cover his wet face. It had been raining at the funeral.

Harry snatched up his cloak and seized one of the orange papers. It was going to be a long night.


End file.
